


Highway I-90

by Tealybob



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tealybob/pseuds/Tealybob
Summary: Stiles Stilinski attempts to end his life, leaving his last words on the voicemail of Lydia Martin's phone. He fails, however, and he's faced with the consequence of his actions, and the fury of Lydia Martin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. I've been going through MDD for the past year, and I'm thinking that maybe writing something along the lines of my own life will help me channel some of my thoughts. This is dark, and not a lot of people's kind of thing, but I hope that it doesn't come across as too pessimistic. Anyways, enjoy :)

He sat there leaning back against his pillows looking pathetic. The cuts on his face were purple now, not as vibrantly red as they had been a few days ago. He looked annoyed. His gaze shifted around the room, eyebrows high in expectation. Was she supposed to speak? Was it  _ her  _ duty to make small talk? After what he’d just done… to be completely silent now… the fucking nerve. 

 

Lydia bounced her foot up and down, big enough movements to get his attention. His eyes flickered to her blue heels, then away, back at the white wall. 

 

“Do you plan on explaining yourself, or are we just gonna sit here and wait for a nurse to come back?” 

 

He didn’t flinch at the sudden noise breaking through the long silence. He didn’t even blink. Nor did he respond, and that pissed Lydia off even more. 

 

“Look, I know this is a sensitive time for you, but you owe me an explanation. I’ve spent two days being followed around and interrogated nonstop and the only reason I’m here now is to-” 

 

“You don’t need to be here.” His voice was hoarse. “They’re done pestering you; you can go home and forget the whole thing.” 

 

“I can’t just ‘forget the whole thing’, actually.” Lydia uncrossed her legs and stood.”  I don’t think you’re taking into account what your actions have done to other people.” 

 

“It didn’t do anything to you.” 

 

“It did as much to me as it did to you.” 

 

Stiles turned his head and looked her in the face for the first time since she’d walked in the room. One of his eyes was bloodshot, but his gaze was harsh, nonetheless. “Then like I said: it didn’t do anything to you.” 

 

Lydia scoffed. “What is wrong with you?” 

 

He shook his head and looked away. “Everything. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, but I don’t know what you want from me now.” 

 

“An explanation.” 

 

He exasperatedly gestured around him. “I don’t have any explanations for you, Lydia. I don’t know what’s happening, nor do I have any control anymore.” 

 

Lydia crossed her arms. “You had control when you started this.” 

 

He bolted upright. “Yeah, and it didn’t work!” he yelled. The beeping of his machines picked up the pace. His face was growing red quickly, and Lydia noted how fast his chest was heaving to keep up with his rushed talking. 

 

Stiles sank back against his wall of pillows as fast as he had moved from them. He let his attention shift down to the sheets, more focused on calming his pulse than winning a staring contest with Lydia. 

 

His wrist was in a cast, he had an IV hooked up to his other arm, she’d heard that he’d broken a couple ribs, and it looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to his face. Lydia looked away. Maybe she shouldn’t be pushing him like this right now. Not while he still couldn’t talk without his lip bleeding. She slowly turned around and sat back down in her seat. 

 

He looked at her over his eyelashes. She looked out the window. 

 

The beeping in the room slowed down over the next couple minutes. The silence returned. Lydia studied the greenery outside. What did she want to hear from him? Part of her was scared that she’d come just to hear him admit he’d done her wrong. Another part was worried about him. Another part was just… following procedures, she supposed. She had to speak with him, right? That was the next logical thing to do in this situation. Except that, well, maybe it wasn’t. 

 

Lydia stood and reached for her purse. Her heels clicking on the floor made her feel completely overdressed, almost insensitive. She cleared her throat and turned to him again. He looked up again, this time softer. His eyes… she couldn’t read. 

 

“I think it would be best if I left,” she claimed. 

 

His eyes trailed away from her face. They landed on her belt, she thought. Once again, he didn’t give her a response, just a vacant stare. 

 

She waited a beat more, then made to follow through on her words. Her steps were loud - a mock confidence. She walked around the bed and towards the doors, feeling his eyes on her. As her hand touched the handle, she was sure he would say one last thing, so she paused, giving him a moment. 

 

No words came, though. She turned to look over her shoulder. His head was dropped back on the pillow, and his eyes closed - tightly. His face wore a grimace, and his lip had started bleeding again. 

 

Lydia felt her stomach drop, and she left the room quickly. 

 

His voice raced through her mind as she left the hospital. Not the hoarse voice of the Stiles in room 318. The voice of a scared Stiles, standing at the edge of his death. 

 

_ “Ah... And I don't know what I'm doing.”  _

 

_ “I don't know. I'm sorry.”  _

 

_ “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”  _

 

_ “I’m sorry.”  _


End file.
